


Sharp

by sadlittlepeachesandplums



Series: Quentin and Eliot Drabble Collection [2]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Blood, Fluff, M/M, hurt comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-19 05:07:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13697496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadlittlepeachesandplums/pseuds/sadlittlepeachesandplums
Summary: Quentin accidentally cuts his finger cooking.





	Sharp

Cooking is Eliot’s thing. Especially in Fillory, where he can experiment with new recipes with strange and exciting ingredients. Where he can tests the limits of cooking and magic—together.

But they’ve been here for five years, and dammit, Quentin wanted to do something for him. 

He’d picked a couple of veggies from their garden—another thing Eliot is solely responsible for, but that has nothing to do with Quentin’s inability to grow anything but his hair, Okay?— borrowed a recipe from one of the villagers that wonder by, and waited for Eliot to head into the village for supplies. 

What Quentin seems to have forgotten, though, is the fact that he is literally incapable of —well. Anything to do with cooking. 

Which is how Eliot walks into the cottage, only moments after Quentin’s nearly cut his whole thumb off while slicing the carrots. Usually, in the face of “oh fuck I just almost accidentally killed myself again” Quentin’s able to clean it up before Eliot gets back. But the knife is sharp, there’s blood everywhere and Quentin’s in shock. 

“So, I got a few more—holy shit. Q!” Eliot rushes through the cottage until he’s standing right behind Quentin, his chest pushed up against Quentin’s back, all warm and firm from all the work they’ve been doing on the mosaic. His arms come to wrap around Quentin like a fucking force of nature as his hands wrap around the weeping cut. (And okay, the cuts not the only thing that’s weeping—but to be fair, his thumb is pointing in the exact opposite direction he’d like and he can see bone, so sue him for a little panic!) 

“Hey,” he tries, as Eliot uses one hand to weave a spell into the air, flexing his muscles against Quentin’s body as he does so. “How—How was your day?” 

Eliot shakes his head, Quentin can feel it against his scalp as his chin brushes left then right in his hair, “Was great, til I came home to a fucking blood bath.” 

Quentin laughs guiltily, though laughter is the last thing he wants to do right now, and looks down at the mess in front of them. His thumb is slowly getting stitched back together by an invisible force. He can’t help but relax back into Eliot’s hold, as the pain fades and Eliot’s warmth takes over. “Yeah…” he breathes, eyes fluttering shut as his head falls back to rest on Eliot’s shoulder. 

His own personal pain protectant cocoon.

Sighing again, Eliot rubs his free hand up Quentin’s arm. Up and down, unconsciously as he finishes up the spell. “Wanna tell me what happened?” 

Quentin opens his eyes, looks down to find that his thumb is all better, and that Eliot’s cleaned up all the blood. “Wanted to surprise you,” he says, shuffling to turn around. His lower back hits the counter, and he wraps his arms around Eliot’s waist. “Thought I’d cook something.” 

“You can’t—“

“Shhh,” Quentin breathes, moving in even closer to curl up against Eliot’s chest. “The knife was sharp and I am sleepy.” He smiles into the soft cloth of the tunic, cuddles up against the firm planes beneath it. 

Eliot doesn’t respond for a moment before he chuckles and wraps his arms around him. “Alright, Q,” he mutters, fond, “But we are going to talk about this later.” 

Quentin nods, lifting his head up with a small smile, “Much later.” Eliot rolls his eyes, just as Quentin pushes up onto the balls of his feet, and presses a kiss to his lips. “Happy anniversary, El.”


End file.
